


The Hamlet.

by telluric



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Drama, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:02:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23243713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telluric/pseuds/telluric
Summary: Armed with nothing but badly drawn art, terrible slogans, and a lot of coffee, students from Sabaody University band together to protest the closing of The Hamlet.They learn a lot along the way.(chronological ficlet collection. multiple cameos.)
Relationships: Eustass Kid/Trafalgar D. Water Law, Monkey D. Luffy/Trafalgar D. Water Law
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	The Hamlet.

They’re so young here, right—a cocky youthfulness that’s full of brash arrogance and bold claims. Just on the edge of twenty, living in dormitories and drinking every weekend. Give them enough time, and they’ll solve the world’s problems—just like that. Like it’s that _easy_.

Law works at the little coffee van in The Hamlet. It’s a small paved carpark, wedged between apartment blocks and a government office building—law courts, if he remembers correctly, suits loitering around outside in their designer shoes and with their leather briefcases, talking on the phone too loud about nothing important. There are rumours of the council closing it down, some of food vans already packing it and leaving before they’re kicked out. Art students from the university held a protest there last Saturday—the slogans were something like “Freedom over Bureaucracy”, like _that_ would convince the council to keep open a dirty little ex-carpark with only a coffee van and a pop-up bar. He heard it went badly. Heat got arrested, and Bonney was _furious._

“They’re trying to silence our voices.”

Right.

So, Kid didn’t expect much when he rocked up, on his way to his first and last class of the day. But he smelt the coffee from around the corner—couldn’t pass up the opportunity for a pick-me-up before his presentation. He had his sculpture on a pair of rollers Killer had lent him, the thing too big for his shitty car—not that it’s registered to drive anyway, but that’s another story—and he was thirty minutes ahead of schedule, which was a pleasant change.

He’s pulling out his wallet from his jeans pocket, when the barista at the register leans forward, looking across the paved courtyard with a raised brow. He’s really familiar. All angular features, tired eyes, this dark broodiness that is—well, fucking hot. Dressed in an oversized hoodie and tight jeans, he reeks of coffee and spices, hair just kinda flopping in his grey eyes.

“Oi, what’s that?”

Kid turns away, following the jerk of his thumb. “Oh. Art project. And just a cap, thanks.”

The barista grunts, pulling back and tapping lazily on the iPad before him. “What beans?”

“I—” Kid frowns. “What?”

The guy rolls his eyes, and that’s when Kid notices the tatts on his hand, creeping up into his sleeve—swirling lines and circles. “Ethiopian, Colombian, Indo—”

“Trafalgar?”

The bored façade cracks. There’s a frown of annoyance—then an eyebrow raise of recognition. A smirk. “Eustass Kid.”

He doesn’t say anything more than that, which is, well… not surprising. Kid remembers running into Trafalgar Law at one of Ace’s infamous parties a year ago, and he hadn’t said much then, either. He was fucking cool, though. Med student, owned an apartment, designed his own clothes—tasted like spice and wood. Kid felt rather stupid next to him, a poor art student who was already a week behind in his rent after loosing a bet to Killer on who could down a whole keg in a minute (turns out, _not_ Heat). The only thing Kid really had going for him was Law’s number in his phone—a phone which he had lost, at that party, not an hour after Law had left.

Ha, ha.

“Haven’t see you in a while. You still studying?”

Law taps away that the screen, drawling, “Yeah. Unfortunately. Working and studying. Oi, the Ethiopian beans are really good, you okay with that?”

“Whatever.”

“Better black, though.” Law moves to the coffee machine, warming it up with one hand and shoving the other into the pocket of his hoodie. It’s a gaudy yellow with black sleeves and lettering. Quirky. “Your art’s looking good.”

Kid glances back towards his sculpture. Bits of metal jutting out everywhere—he’d tried to capture ‘nature’ in something so obviously manmade. The steel had a lot of rust over it now, and yeah, he was pretty proud of this one, even if he really had no idea what he was trying to convey through it.

“Thanks.”

“You ever go to the Flea Markets?”

“What’s that?”

The coffee machine starts screaming, and Law turns away briefly, doing his thing, the steam blowing up, smell of ground beans filling the space. He works silently for a couple of seconds, then says, “It’s a local market down at the showground near Shakky’s Rip-Off. People sell shit they’ve made. A lot of the public servants go down there to furnish their apartments—” he says this with a roll of his eyes, and Kid snorts, “—Your stuff would sell really well there, I reckon.”

Law walks back over, hands him the filled coffee cup with a smirk.

Kid says, “Thanks.” Then, “I wanted a cap.”

“It’s better black.”

He frowns.

Law waves a languid hand, pulling out his phone from his pocket and turning away. He drawls, “Guess I’ll see you this Saturday, Eustass- _ya_?”

*****

Shakky’s Rip-Off is notorious for—well, ripping people off. Government workers love the place; she says the high pricing drives them in, even if the beer is just beer—and shit beer, at that. Kid’s not so sure it’s the price that pulls them in, so much as it is that Shakky’s pretty fit, and her husband Rayleigh being some big name in the senate.

Regardless, Kid takes her advice, trying out the pricing strategy. Some scrap bit of metal with a pattern cut into it? 500 beli. Art sculptures from previous classes that were just taking up cupboard space? 1000.

Thirty minutes in, and he has sold everything.

“Oh, it’s just _beautiful_ ,” one woman coos, after buying his last bit of rubbish. “You are a talent. Young entrepreneurs like you drive our beautiful city.”

It takes a lot of self-control on his behalf to not laugh in her face.

The markets are still going strong, so he packs up his little store—which is actually just Killer’s van with the doors open, and a chalkboard sign reading ‘Kid’s Piracy’—and wanders around. There are small pop up streetlamps lining the cobblestone paths, smells of Eastern cuisine floating through the air. A lot of stalls look like ships, all with quirky names and weird peddlers. Kid takes his time, soaking it all in, gathering inspiration, before he sees it—a little yellow car with two people leaning on the passenger door, clothes spilling from the boot and strong smell of tobacco filling the atmosphere around them.

“Oi, Trafalgar.”

Law looks up, smirk already in place. “You came.”

Kid really likes the way his voice sounds when he says that, this hopeful lilt masked with fake indifference. He shrugs in return, but grins. “Wanna get a drink? Turns out metal sells.”

Law huffs a laugh. “Uh-huh.”

By his side, a blonde guy lights up another cigarette, looking weirdly out-of-place in a black suit next to Law’s t-shirt and jeans. He mutters, “I’ll watch the car.”

Law shoves his hands into his pockets and idles up to Kid with a yawn. “I know a good place.”

The place is a little stall, near the end of the markets. It’s surrounded by wooden tables and chairs, and sells booze—the good kind, not the Shakky kind. Kid buys two pints, and they take place on a table near the end, Law sitting next to him. He taps his fingers rhythmically on the wood, drawling strange questions, revealing little to nothing, aloof and untouchable. He has a feral sort of smile, and Kid finds himself staring at it, staring at him, curious and fascinated.

“Are they really closing The Hamlet?”

Law snorts. “Probably.” He takes a long sip of his beer, then pauses. “You know, they want to build apartments there. I heard rumours that one of the government buildings from the South is getting moved just a block away from Hamlet. Replacing art with bureaucracy, where’s the freedom in that?”

Kid shrugs.

“It just—” Law leans forward, hands between his knees, eyes flashing in the darkness, “—pisses me off, you know? They tell us how to live our lives. Those fucking suits that buy my coffee make three times as much as me.” He laughs bitterly. “I just want to be a doctor who’ll do some good, but I have to live ten years on a pathetic wage selling coffee to people who don’t even know where Ethiopia is on a map.” Law looks at him. “What about you?”

Kid downs the last of his drink. “What about me?”

“Well.” He has this way of staring, like he’s seeing right through Kid. “You’re an art student. Did you go to the protests about the Hamlet?”

“Nah. Waste of time.” He swings the empty beer bottle between two fingers, dragging his gaze away from Law. He smells so _good_ though. Like… like coffee and smoke and wood and clean laundry. “Better ways to get their attention.”

“Like what?”

Kid shrugs again. “Graffiti. Heh. Vandalism. Shit like that, people can’t forget.” He pauses for a beat, then says, “The Hamlet is good for art, but it’s not changing the city. The suits think they’re right, you know? They don’t give a fuck about protests on weekends—they’re not even _there_ on weekends. They’ll take all out spaces if there’s money to be made.”

Law’s silent for a long time, turning away, watching as the remaining stalls start to pack down their vans and tents. Eventually, “Right.” Then, a soft chuckle, eyes dancing mischievously as they flick back to Kid. “That’s what I like about people like you. You keep it real.”

Kid’s breath catches in his throat.

Beginnings are so funny, you know. There is caution, dancing around edges, figuring out boundaries. Advancing and retreating, never at the same time, never just _getting_ it. But there is none of that here, and Kid sees Law on his level, understands what they both mean, drawn to something more, something so infinitely _free_.

There is an impeccable second where they just hold one another’s gaze, the air sparking around them; an endlessness to the moment, one he could almost pluck from the air and hold.

Then Law’s phone rings.

“Damn.” He pulls it out. “I forgot about Sanji.”

“The guy at the car?”

“Yeah, he’s a friend of my _—friend.”_

He stares at the phone for a long time, then looks to Kid, unspoken question hanging between them.

Kid just says, “My band’s playing at Shakky’s next weekend, if you wanna…?” like he isn’t invested, doesn’t care, like it’s not a big deal—

“I’ll be there, Eustass-ya.”

_It’s not a big deal._

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! this is an old idea i uploaded, deleted, and am now finally continuing. if it seems familiar, it probably is.


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